


The Ghost(s) Of 46th Street

by LondonGypsy



Category: Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bittersweet, Character Turned Into a Ghost, First Kiss, First Meetings, Grofflin, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, RPF, Sort Of, Soulmates, this is really hard to tag properly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 03:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12246399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonGypsy/pseuds/LondonGypsy
Summary: The Richard Rodgers Theater in New York finds itself to be the stage for one of the biggest musicals in the history of musicals.It is also the place of one of the biggest love stories - one that spans years, and even defies death.





	The Ghost(s) Of 46th Street

**Author's Note:**

> So, first fic in this fandom. (Well, this was the third I've written since I've fallen into this particular rabbit hole but the first I'm going to post).  
> This came into being after researching Ghost Lights for another one (which I will hopefully post at some point).  
> I've kept it quite vague as to which of Lin's musicals this was but then one or two small things sneaked in which made it quite clear which one this is. See if you can spot them.  
> It's NOT tagged as Death Fic, only as implied cause it's only mentioned. But if a very vague description of their deaths is a trigger to you, DO NOT READ!  
> Also: this is written with the utmost respect, adoration and admiration for everyone in it.

New York's Richard Rodgers stage is still and empty, a single light bulb casting its cold light into the auditorium. It's late, and everything is quiet. 

Suddenly the well-worn wooden floor boards creak under a man's step as he walks out from the wings. He stares out into the house, his attentive gaze slowly gliding over the red seats. He looks up onto the beautifully-decorated ceiling; a soft smile forming on his face as he sees the chandeliers, shimmering in the low lighting. He walks around slowly, hands in his pockets, curious brown eyes flickering here and there, the smile still playing over his lips.

He exhales deeply, stops in the middle of the stage. 

"You're perfect," he whispers into the empty room. 

For another moment he just stands there, motionless like a statue, only his eyes moving around. 

"Lin? We've gotta go," calls a  voice from off-stage, and the man on stage turns towards it. 

"Coming." One last loving look around and he hurries away, leaving behind the buzzing energy of a man who knows exactly what he wants. 

The stage is once more empty, and the faint sounds of people walking around in the staircases die away one after the other until silence envelopes the entire building. 

The chandelier's crystals cling as if moved by a light breeze, and the entire structure starts swinging gently. A low hum can be heard, echoing around the auditorium before it fades away into an almost inaudible laughter. 

The single light on stage shines on. 

***

Music echoes around the theater, lights bathe the stage in a bright glow, people walk around, voices call out. It's busy, hectic almost, and yet there's one man in the middle of it all, completely ignoring the bustle around him. He's sitting in the back of the auditorium, curled up in one of the seats, scribbling into a notebook or typing away on his laptop. He's completely unaware of everything around him, lost in his own head. 

A cool draft passes him, and he shivers, pulling his hoodie tighter around his neck. Another gust ruffles his hair and he looks up, brows furrowed. 

"Lac," he calls loudly, and a curly head appears out of the depths of the pit in front of the stage. 

"Yes?"  

"Is the AC on?" 

"I think so. Why?" 

"Because it's really drafty back here." 

"I'll look into it." 

"Thank you." 

The man smiles absently, sinks deeper into the worn seat, hunching his shoulders. But the draft is gone, only the faint scent of grass lingering in the air. 

***

"Why won't you stay up there," the man murmurs, tucking the book back on the shelf for the 4th time. He curses softly as it slips off it again, tumbling to the ground with a soft thud. 

"Fine," he grumbles, pushing it against the wall with his foot, and leaves it there. 

He keeps unpacking boxes, spreading out papers, books, cassettes on every available surface, giving the small room a very lived-in feeling. He's softly humming to himself as he tapes letters and photos to the mirror, unfolds clothes and hangs them on the single rail under the bookshelf. 

Suddenly he freezes, a jacket in his hands. He stays like that for a moment before he drops the jacket to the floor, searching through the chaos on the desk until he finds a battered notebook. He sinks to the floor and, muttering to himself, he starts scribbling furiously, tapping a rapid rhythm with his free hand against his leg. 

He doesn't notice another book falling off the shelf. He doesn't move as the mug he put on the desk earlier, already precariously on the edge, slowly slips and drops to the floor. It was empty, and the carpet cushions the fall. He doesn't even flinch as the door to the room slams shut, rattling the frame. 

He keeps scribbling along, completely lost in his mind, not hearing the faint chuckling echoing through the small room. 

***

He's passed out, sound asleep in one of the seats on the balcony, the omnipresent notebook cradled against his chest. He jerks awake just when the lights go out, plunging the place in darkness. He rubs his face, looks around, disoriented. He's disheveled, dark shadows under his eyes, and yet he's still radiating a raw energy that stirs the air around him. 

Scrambling to his feet, he shuffles out of the balcony, stumbling down the stairs into the dimly lit lobby where he stops, looking around. He stuffs his notebook in the back pocket of his jeans, slowly wandering the wide hallways, fingertips sliding over the walls and door frames. It seems almost as if he's trying to memorize every single inch of the building, feel every texture of the walls, walk every hallway. 

His aimless wandering leads him back into the theater proper; standing in the back he gazes into the round, a frown on his forehead. There's something wrong but he can't put his finger on it. Slowly walking down the aisle he stops in front of the stage, staring up at it. 

"Why are the lights out?" he murmurs to himself, squinting into the darkness. He leans over, one hand searching for the switch of the ghost light. He lets out a triumphant 'ha' when he finds it, flicking the small nub. 

And stumbles back in surprise. 

"Hello." 

He stares at the young man, sitting right next to him on the edge of the stage, smiling at him. 

"Uh, hey. What are you doing here?" 

"Could ask you the same." 

"I haven't seen you around. Do you work here?" 

A soft chuckle. "Something like that." 

"Well, I'm sure you shouldn't be here." 

"Again, same goes for you." 

A shrugged shoulder, and a huffed laugh. "Fell asleep at work." 

"Hm, your boss won't be happy." 

"Thankfully I'm my own boss. Sort of." Then: "Sorry. Hi, I'm Lin. Nice to meet you." 

"Jonathan. Well, Jon." 

Lin holds out his hand but Jon hops to his feet, ignoring his hand. He walks over the stage, one hand gently touching the flimsy rod of the ghost light as he passes it.

"This shouldn't be off," he says quietly, glancing over his shoulder. 

Lin shrugs, leaning against the edge of the stage. 

"Yeah, I know. Somebody must've forgotten to turn it on." 

"Somebody could get hurt. Or worse." He walks towards the wings. "Keep an eye on that, would you?" 

"Uh, yeah, sure thing." 

Jon nods before he vanishes wordlessly into the dark of the backstage area. 

Lin stares after him for a moment before he shakes his head. 

"That was weird," he murmurs, casting one last look after the other man. Then he turns and slowly walks away.

***

He's whirling over the stage, firing words like daggers, his body as tense as a bow. He stumbles over a phrase, makes a face. 

"Shit, sorry. Again. From the top," he says, rushing back to the other side of the stage. Exhaling deeply, he takes a step, stumbles. 

"Take five, everyone. Lin, when was the last time you slept properly?" A disembodied voice from the mezzanine. 

Silence, shuffling and a frown. "Last week?" It comes out like a question. 

"You do know that you can't forego sleep forever, right? Even _you_ need to rest every now and then." 

"I know," he sighs, "but-" 

"No 'buts', man. We're opening in two weeks, and we need you at your very best. You will leave right now, go home and get at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. We'll manage a day without you." 

"But-" 

"Did I stutter, Miranda? No 'but's. Out. Now." 

He sighs, mock-salutes into the darkness and walks off-stage. 

"Isn't going so well, is it?" 

He stops, staring at the man who is leaning against the wall, half hidden in the dark.  
Lin is exhausted; now that he's away from the bright lights, the deep shadows under his eyes look like bruises, his body has lost all the tension, even the ever present buzzing energy is just a low background hum. 

"Nope," he sighs, and then looks around, "I need coffee." 

"Didn't you just get sent home to rest?" 

He huffs, shrugging a shoulder. 

"A nap, some coffee and I'm as good as new." 

Two very blue eyes scan over him, and Lin shivers at the intensity of it. 

"I doubt that." 

Lin's tired, and the condescending tone gets on his nerves. 

"Yeah well, I don't care what you think. I don't even know you." 

Pushing away from the wall, Jon smiles at him, dimples appearing around his eyes. 

"I told you. I'm Jon." 

Lin's bristling now. 

"That's not even an answer. What are you doing? Wardrobe? Stage-hand? Are you one of Tommy's?" 

Jon shakes his head. "None of that." 

"LIN! I can still hear you. Leave or I'm going to have you kicked out." 

Lin rolls his eyes, yells: "I'm almost gone." 

"I want you ALL gone, Miranda. NOW!" 

Snorting loudly he shuffles along the small hallway towards his dressing room. Only when he steps into the room, he notices that Jon is gone. 

"I really need sleep," he mutters to himself, grabbing his bag. 

Jon watches him leave the theater from the small ledge on top of the marquee. 

***

It's early and very quiet. But there's a stir in the air, that sort of electric hum that can only mean one thing: Opening night. That magical moment, when there's no going back. When the show has to happen, no matter what.  

He came in only a few minutes ago. He's the first. He's always here before everyone else. And often the last to leave. Sometimes he spends the night. 

Now he steps onto the stage. He drops his bag at the side and slowly walks to the front. He turns, his back to the auditorium, his hair messy, his step heavy. Big brown eyes regard the finished set. 

They worked on it until last night; it still smells of wood and glue. 

Slowly he turns, gaze raking over the seats, the aisles and balconies; the fatigue that surrounded him slowly vanishes and gets replaced with simmering excitement. 

"Good morning, beautiful," he whispers into the semi darkness. 

"Why, thank you, good morning to you too." 

He jumps, pressing a hand to his heart, eyes suddenly wild and blazing. He looks around, sees Jon sitting on the wide railing of the first balcony, giving a little wave. 

"Fuck, you scared the shit outta me. What the hell are you doing?" 

"Enjoying the calm before the storm." 

Lin exhales deeply, shaking his head. 

"No, I mean, what you are doing here? I know for a fact that you're not working here. I've asked around. Nobody knows you." 

Jon raises an eyebrow.

"You asked about me? I'm flattered." 

Lin glares, and there's a very faint blush on his cheeks. 

"You're not one  of ours. That I know. So how the hell do you get in? Who the fuck are you?" 

"So many questions, so little time." He hops off the edge, and Lin gasps, but he lands easily on his feet, barely making a sound. He walks up the aisle, hands behind his back, not a care in the world. 

"Maybe I'll tell you later" he says as he reaches the door into the foyer, "for now, break a leg. You've got this." 

"Lin!" A voice from the wings, loud and booming. Lin looks over his shoulder. 

"Chris, you're early." 

"Can't have you have all the fun on your own, can I?" 

Lin huffs a laugh, turns back to Jon, who is gone, slipped out of the auditorium without leaving a trace. 

"Soo weird," he murmurs. 

"What's weird?" 

"There's that guy I keep running into at the strangest times. Just hangs around, nobody knows him, or who he works for." 

The other man lets out a soft chuckle that fills the entire place with warmth. 

"Maybe he's the theater ghost. Every place on Broadway has one." 

Lin snorts. "Do you really believe that?" 

"Why not? There's too many incidents over the years to not at least entertain the idea. Is he pretty?" 

"Chris!" 

"What? Ghosts are always pretty." 

"I always thought ghosts have to be scary." 

"They can be but usually they wanna lure you in so they have to have something to do that, right? And pretty helps with that. Is he? Do I have to worry about you?" 

Lin hums thoughtfully. "Well, he's not ugly." 

"Ah Lin, you're adorable. Come on, I'll buy you coffee. Big day ahead, we need you sharp." 

They continue talking as they walk away, the taller one throwing an arm over the smaller man's shoulder. 

The chandelier's crystals start rattling loudly. 

*

The applause roars around the theater. It fills the room with the untamed buzz that usually happens only once during every run. It's always special but tonight it's even more so. Much more energetic than normal, the air is charged, and everyone feels it. The audience, on their feet, cheering and yelling. The cast on stage, emotional and overjoyed as they bow and bow again before filing off stage. 

Slowly the audience leaves as well, just as hyped up as the people in the wings. There are hugs and kisses, tears of joy and laughter, reverberating through the entire building. Drinks are handed around; eventually everyone leaves for their rooms to get ready for the afterparty. 

"This will be running for a long time." 

Lin stops in his track up the stairs to his dressing room, looking at the man, sitting on the last step, smiling at him, his blue eyes sparkling. 

He can't help it, he smiles back, bright and unguarded. 

"Thank you. I really hope so." 

And then he wants to hug the man, wants to share the immense joy he feels. And he stumbles over his own feet and falls, hitting his elbow on the banister. His hands break his fall - on the cold concrete ground. Where only moments before Jon had sat, is nothing anymore. 

"Wha-?" He stares at the floor, his head whipping around. 

Now Jon stands in the door to his rooms, still smiling but the smile is so sad something in Lin's chest twists. 

"You've put on something outstanding. I haven't seen anything like this before," Jon says, the sparkle in his eyes gone. 

Lin looks at him for a long time, frowning. 

"You're not real," he then says, slowly as if tasting the words.

Jon shakes his head, shoulders sagging. 

"You're smart. Didn't take you as long as I thought." 

Lin plops onto the top step, leaning against the banister. His hands are shaking. 

"So Chris was right. You _are_ a ghost?" His voice is soft, his pulse is racing. 

Jon sighs deeply, sliding down the door frame and sits on the ground. 

"So very smart." There's a crooked smile on his lips. 

"But you look so real." Just as Lin says it, Jon exhales and his entire body becomes transparent. Lin can see the wooden door frame through him. 

"Fucking hell!" 

Jon huffs a laughs. "Always so eloquent."

Lin keeps staring at him, opening his mouth, but no words are coming out. 

Jon tilts his head. 

"Curious. Should've known that you'd be intrigued rather than frightened." 

"I'm scared shitless, and right now my legs wouldn't carry me." Lin shrugs weakly; his heart is hammering so loudly in his chest that it rattles his entire frame. 

"Breathe," Jon reminds him, and Lin does. He inhales deeply, letting it out slowly, repeats it for a few minutes. 

"So, Chris was right," he says again. 

"The tall one from earlier?" 

Lin nods; he reaches out and then shakes his head, dropping his hand in his lap. 

"It's like touching smoke," Jon says. "At least that's what I've been told." 

"I need to lie down," Lin says after a long silence, and without waiting for an answer, he scrambles to his feet. He stumbles into his room and flops on the small couch there. 

"Don't you have a party to go to?" 

"Right now I need to lie here, trying to convince myself that I'm not going nuts," Lin mutters into the cushions. 

Jon chuckles, and Lin's skin is covered in goosebumps. 

"Wished I could help with that," Jon says. 

"Pinch me?" 

"Sorry, not an option." 

"Damn." 

There's a sound from the hallway, and a man walks in, cheerful and permeating the same joy as everyone else. 

"Lin, why are you not dressed? The bus for the party leaves in ten." 

Lin shoots up on the couch, looking around. Jon stands in a corner, shrugging. "Go ahead," he mouths. 

"Rory, can you see anyone else in here?" Lin asks, sitting up on the couch, gaze glued to Jon. 

"What are you talking about? Are you drunk already?" 

"Tell me. Please." 

A glance around, and a frown. 

"Just you and me." A pause, then: "You okay?" 

"Yeah, 'm fine. Gimme a second. I'll meet you downstairs." 

"Okay." He leaves, casting confused glances back. 

"He couldn't see you." Lin says, getting up, starting to undress. 

"No. Unless I want him to." 

Lin's hands are on his pants as he looks up, eyes narrowed. 

"Have you been in here before? Without me, well, noticing." 

Jon grins, his eyes twinkling. 

"Yes." 

Lin doesn't move for a moment before he shrugs and drops his pants. He takes off the jacket and the shirt, carefully putting his costume on its hanger. He takes off a suit ensemble from another, dresses just as carefully. 

Jon watches him mutely.

"I'm going to a party now," Lin says as he wrangles with his tie, "and I will get horribly drunk. Maybe I will have forgotten by tomorrow that I've seen a fucking ghost." 

"Want me to remind you then?" Jon straightens his back, his tone purposefully neutral. 

Lin exhales noisily, clenching his trembling hands into fists. 

"I don't fucking know. No. Yes. I have no fucking clue. Right now I'm overwhelmed with everything so it feels as if this is a normal conversation. Tomorrow I might react properly, scream and throw things at you. Who the hell knows."   

Jon laughs softly, and Lin sighs. 

"Good night, Lin," Jon says, "thank you for an outstanding show." 

Lin shakes his head, huffs a sarcastic laugh, squeezes his eyes shut. 

He jerks back as he feels a cool draft at the side of his face, almost like a caress. When he opens his eyes again, he's alone, the room quiet, a scent of wood in the air. 

"Nope, not thinking about that right now," he mutters to himself. Grabbing his wallet and his phone, he flees the room, slamming the door shut behind him. 

The scent of wood lingers a little longer. 

***

Lin is distracted, and it shows. The audience doesn't notice but everyone else does. 

"Shit, man, what's wrong?"   
"You've been better."  
"Dude, pull yourself together." 

The words ring in his ears as he hides in his dressing room during intermission, for the very first time shutting the door behind him. He collapses in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. He opens a small drawer, takes out a bottle of whiskey. Staring at it, he holds it, and then puts it back. He swivels around in his chair, taking in the small, messy room. 

"Jon?" It's barely there, just a breath into the silence that is wearing him thin. 

"I know you're there. Show yourself." 

The silence is deafening. 

"It's been weeks. Please? I'm going crazy here." He makes a face at the pleading tone in his voice. "I know you exist. Existed. Whatever." He sighs deeply. "I've googled you. I'm sorry. About your- well, how it happened. Can we talk? I've got so many questions." 

Everything is still, and he opens the drawer again, stares at the bottle in there. 

"Oh fuck this," he murmurs. He opens it, pours a good amount into a mug, downs it. 

Closing his eyes, he slumps into the chair, mindful of his costume. 

"You know," he muses, "I've been obsessed with death my whole life. Always wondering when it'll happen to me. To my loved ones. It's so inevitable, it  _ will  _ happen some day. Nobody can outrun it. It will get us all in the end. What did you think when you fell? Did you feel the impact? Did it hurt? Why are you still here? What is keeping you? Do you  _ want  _ to be here?" 

Another sip, a bone rattling sigh. 

"I talked to our door guy. He knows all the stories. He knew about your accident. He told me about others, but he never heard anything about you after the accident. Why haven't you shown yourself to anyone before? Or have you?" 

He slams the bottle on the desk, talking himself into a rage. 

"Why now? Why me? What have I done to be punished like this? Fucking talk to me if you want to haunt me!" 

He takes a long drink straight from the bottle. 

"Goodness, had I known that you're such a nuisance, I'd have stayed far away from you." 

Lin jerks upright, chokes on the whiskey and coughs violently. 

Jon sits on his couch, crossed-legged, eyebrows raised. 

"Fuck, don't do that." 

"You asked." 

"Not to scare the shit outta me." 

"Uhm, that's basically my job, you know." 

They stare at each other, and then Lin starts laughing. He laughs and laughs, tears running down his face. 

"You're fucking impossible." 

Jon only grins, gestures over himself. 

"Again, pretty much the job description." 

_ Places, places for the top of the show. _

Lin flinches. 

"Shit, I gotta go. 

He looks at Jon. "Will you be back?" 

Jon looks at him, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

"Do you want me to?" 

Lin nods. "Yes." 

"Then I'll be here." 

Lin smiles at him before he hurries outside. 

*

"Sorry, guys, I've got work to do. Great show. Good night." Lin calls, walking into his room, closing the door behind him. 

He looks around the empty room. 

"Jon?" 

"I'm here." 

Lin's smile is bright. 

"How do you do it? Just appear." 

Jon only raises an eyebrow at him.   Lin chuckles and slowly starts undressing, keeping his eyes on Jon, who's perched on the edge of the couch. 

"Yeah, sorry, it's a ghost thing, I guess." 

"Pretty much, yes." 

"So no explanation for appearing out of thin air, huh?" 

Jon shakes his head. 

"That would take up a lifetime." 

"Understood. Anyhow, I have questions." 

"I know. I've heard you." 

Lin flops into the chair in boxers and vest, not bothering to get dressed again. 

"Why didn't you show yourself then?" 

"I wasn't sure how you react. Wanted to see if you mean it. You’re dealing with this pretty well." 

Lin takes out the hairband, runs a hand through his hair. 

"I'm not. Not at first, that is. But I kept messing up, because I was thinking about you, and I figured you're friendly. You talked to me. You didn't try to-" he hesitates. 

"Try to harm you? I wouldn't." Jon says quietly. "You have such a special energy. I've sensed it the second you walked in this theater." 

Lin frowns. 

"Special? Nah, man, I'm just a normal dude, trying to put on a show, and make a living." 

Jon shakes his head. 

"No. This is a dream come true for you. This is not just a job for you. I know how that feels. You have nothing of that. Every living being broadcasts their intentions out into the world. You don't know it but I can see it, feel it, sometimes I can taste it. Your energy drew me to you. It's like a magnet. Normally I don't even have the power to show myself like this." He waves a hand around his body. "You, well, you are not like others. You are so full of passion and love for what you do. It's a bit intoxicating. And addictive, to be honest. Joy is such a great gratification for us, much better than fright. You see, we feed of the energy of people. Hence all these haunted theaters. There's no better place for all that raw energy than places that try to make people  _ feel _ . And you're basically bursting with so many emotions..." His voice trails off, and for a second he looks confused. "You are unique," he finishes lamely. He watches Lin, the confusion giving way to thoughtfulness.  

"Never did it in my lifetime, but being around you feels like getting high. The people before you, it was like getting drunk. You, you're the ultimate hit" 

Lin stares. "Did you just compare me to drugs?" 

"Basically, yes. But that's the closest I know how to describe it" 

Lin ponders that, then sort of shakes his head and nods at the same time. They fall silent. Lin keeps eyeing Jon closely. 

"Can I touch you?" he then asks, immediately biting his lip. "Sorry, that was rude." 

Jon smiles. 

"Not rude at all. But I fear there's not much to touch. Smoke-like, remember?" 

Lin nods and sits up nevertheless. Jon leans forward. The room is so small that neither has to get up. Lin raises his hand. He wants to touch his shoulder, his arm, but his hand goes to Jon's face. He can feel a coolness, like a gentle breeze. He hesitates for a second. 

"Okay?" he asks quietly. 

"Yes." 

Lin reaches out, and his fingertips connect with cool skin. They both gasp.   Jon's eyes widen and he draws back, mouth open. He looks utterly shocked. 

"I thought-" Lin starts, reaching out again, touching a finger to Jon's cheek. 

"Me too." Jon's voice is just a whisper as he leans into Lin's touch. "This has never happened before." 

"You said, I'm special," Lin murmurs, fascination audible in his tone.   He splays his finger over Jon's cheek. He inhales sharply as he feels Jon's skin warm beneath his palm. 

"I had no idea how special," Jon says, shifting towards Lin. 

They are close, so close that Lin can see the gold sprinkles in Jon's blue eyes. They're silent as Lin runs his hand over Jon's cheek. He slides his fingers into his hair. It's also cool, and very soft. A smile flickers over his face as he combs through it, watching as Jon's lids flutter and then close. 

"It's been so long," he murmurs, pressing into Lin's hand, "I've forgotten how being touched feels." 

"You can touch as well. If you like," Lin says hastily, blushing a little. "'s only fair." 

Jon hums lowly; the sound echoes through the room and all of Lin's hair stands on end. 

"Better not overdo it," Jon murmurs, pulling back, sadness in the lines of his face. Lin instantly feels bereft. 

"I've got to go." Jon says. 

Lin shakes his head. "Please stay. I still have so many questions." 

"I know. And I will answer them as best as I can. Not today though. Good night, Lin." 

Lin sighs, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. 

"Good night, Jon." 

The room is still, and as Lin opens his eyes again, Jon is gone. 

***

Lin opens a hidden side door and slips inside. It's cool, dim and quiet. 

"You're off today." Jon says, stepping out of the shadows of the hallway. 

Lin only smiles at him, locking the door behind him. Wordlessly he walks past Jon towards the stage. The ever present ghost light creates sharp contrasts over everything. Lin steps onto the stage, looks out into the auditorium. He takes a sip of his coffee, turning towards Jon. 

"Talk to me." 

Jon watches him closely, the harsh light casting shadows over his face. 

"I haven't been able to touch anyone in five years." He says it without emotion. Just a fact. And yet it hurts Lin; it feels like a knife in his heart. 

"Five years," he repeats, shocked. He sinks to the floor, sitting cross-legged on the boards. 

Jon shrugs. "You get used to it. It just becomes part of who-, what you are. Until you touched me, I never realized how much I miss it." 

"About that. What exactly happened there?" 

"You. You happened.  You're so full of untamed emotions, and it must've triggered something I've thought was just a myth." 

Lin sits up, curiosity written all over his face. Jon smiles and walks over, sits opposite him on the floor.

"There is this legend that if someone honest and pure is around one of us long enough, we are able to absorb that energy, and become corporeal. In all my time I've never believed it. And then you walked into my theater and everything changed." 

Lin tilts his head. 

"But I'm-" 

"It's nothing logical, or something one could explain scientifically." He chuckles. "Ghosts don't make sense to most people. It's all about emotions, feelings. Your joy is my joy, your worries are mine, too. And you're so full of dedication and devotion to your art, it's like a burning flame in the dark." He gestures toward the ghost light. "Like one of these. Bright and entrancing. I'm a moth, you're my flame." 

Lin stares at him, mouth hanging open as he visibly tries to understand. Jon runs a hand through his hair. 

"I've never met anyone as extraordinary as you. I've seen many people pass through here, felt their excitement, their love for what they do. It's part of what keeps me here. But you-, you are outstanding. From the second you walked in here, I knew I had to meet you for real. I tried to get your attention but you're incredibly focused so I had to come up with some stronger measures." 

Lin huffs amused.

"Well, it worked. But why are you still here? Don't-" he stops, biting his lip before be continues, "-ghosts move on at some point?" 

"Yes, normally they finish whatever unfinished business they still have. Me? I just love it here. The theater, its people and its workings. This was my life." He waves a hand around. "I've left everything behind, my family, my friends, for the dream of a Broadway career. And for a while I had it all. My star was rising, I had the perfect apartment just around the corner and quickly made friends. I even fell in love." 

His eyes glaze over and he stares into the distance. Lin is silent, waiting. 

"Then I fell. Because somebody forgot to switch the damn light on. Which wasn't even the main problem. I had spent months on this stage." His hand hovers just above the wooden boards, as if caressing it. "I knew it inside out, every inch of it. Somebody forgot to put away a prop. A stupid little thing. I stumbled over it, couldn't keep my balance." He points towards the edge of the stage. "It was just unlucky. I didn't feel anything. I heard my neck crack though. Then there was darkness for a long time. Eventually it became this place. Took me a while to adjust. Funnily I wasn't even angry. I guess I was supposed to hunt down the idiots who were responsible. I never found out who it was. Didn't really care anyways. I just settled in, watched whatever show was put on, had some fun with you lot." He grins sheepishly. "Just did my job, I guess. But apparently I was too subtle, barely anyone cared. Guess theater folk are used to much more terrifying ghosts. Not someone who just loves this all, even after death." 

He falls silent, and as he continues talking, his voice is so low that Lin leans in to hear him better. 

"My lover came in one day. Must've been a few months after. He was with someone. I lost it. I've never felt such rage. That night they had to stop the performance." 

"Shit, I've heard about that. Wasn't that when the entire lighting rig came down?" 

Jon nods, ducking his head. 

"He was sitting in the front row, and that rig missed him by inches." 

Lin inhales sharply. 

"I wanted to hurt him." Jon admits, his voice very small. "I felt betrayed that he moved on so quickly."   

"God, I'm sorry, that must've been horrible." 

"It was. I've never been jealous but that night I wanted to rip his heart out and make him watch it die in my hands." Jon shakes his head as if chasing away the memory. "Sorry, that was a bad time. After that I hid for a few weeks. The roof is very peaceful, and people rarely go there, if you ever need a place to be by yourself." 

"Why didn't you go after him?" Lin asks through gritted teeth.  

"Cause I can't leave. I'm confined to the theater. I am able to visit the one next door though. There's a hidden tunnel that connects both buildings, but that's it. It's fine. I've made my peace with him. Probably wasn't the right one anyways." 

"He's an asshole," Lin mutters under his breath. 

Jon smiles. "Thank you." 

Lin looks at him, his brown eyes curious and thoughtful. 

"Can I try something?" he then asks. 

"Sure." 

"Just- don't move." 

Lin shuffles about, kneels in front of Jon. He hesitates, then reaches out, laying a hand on Jon's cheek. Jon freezes, blinks. Lin keeps still, just resting his hand on Jon's face. His lip twitches as the cool skin warms. He waits some more, then rests his other hand on the other side of Jon's face. Now he can  _ see  _ a faint redness color the pale skin. 

"You  _ are  _ pretty," he mutters to himself. 

Jon giggles, the color on his cheeks deepening. 

Slowly Lin's hand slide into Jon's hair; with every breath he takes he moves a fraction closer. Jon's eyes shimmer silver in the light as he watches him attentively. Lin cradles his head, his fingertips tingling at the warmth spreading over Jon's skin beneath his touch. He shuffles even closer; when their chests touch, Lin exhales. He can't feel Jon's chest moving, can't hear him breathing but he can smell the faint scent of cut wood. 

"You smell like a freshly built set," he whispers. 

"Coming from you that's a huge compliment," Jon replies, voice just as hushed as Lin's. 

Lin smiles, and then he carefully rests his forehead against Jon's. Something sizzles in the still air around them, and Lin shivers.  He feels Jon moving, and a shuddering sigh leaves his lips as Jon's fingers ghost over his arms. 

"You're so warm." 

Lin stays perfectly still, goosebumps covering his skin as Jon's fingers wander over his shoulder, his neck, until they splay over his cheek. Barely there at first but then Lin leans into it, and Jon makes a noise deep in his throat. He sounds like a wounded animal, and Lin's heart breaks. 

"C'mere," he whispers, and pulls Jon against him. He wants to hold him tightly, assure him that everything is okay, that he's not alone anymore. 

He kisses him instead. Jon's lips are just as cool as his skin was but they quickly warm up, and as soon as Jon kisses him back, they feel hot against Lin's own. 

Lin sighs, clinging to Jon's neck, one hand tangled in his short hair, pressing himself against him. Jon is silent, doesn't make a sound but he kisses Lin with an urgency that has Lin's pulse racing. His hands slide over his back, curling around the nape of his neck. A low groan fills the air; and neither could say who made it. Jon's mouth is eager, and Lin's jaw goes slack, and he's gently biting Jon's lower lip. Now Jon moans, and it echoes and multiplies around them, chasing a hot jolt through Lin. Jon's finger twist in Lin's hair, and he's deepening the kiss. Lin is trembling, and as Jon's tongue slides against his, he's growling helplessly at the sensation. 

He pulls away, panting heavily. Jon stares at him, silver-blue eyes huge and blazing, mouth red and glistening. Very slowly he licks over his lower lip, never once breaking the eye contact. Lin takes a few ragged breaths, closing his eyes,. Before he can open them again, Jon's mouth is back on his, kissing him with such hunger, Lin melts against his solid form. Jon seems to be wanting to go on and on but Lin has to breathe so he pulls back, not able to stop touching Jon though. He keeps caressing his face, his neck, runs his hand through his hair. His heart flutters at the undisguised longing in Jon's eyes. 

"How-" Lin mutters. 

"You," Jon breathes against his mouth, "this is all you. You're incredible. Kiss me again." 

And Lin does, wraps his arms around Jon's shoulders, pulls him down on him, and kisses him again and again. 

*

They end up on the floor, curled around each other. Jon's head is resting on Lin's chest, ear pressed to his heart, Lin's hand carding through his hair. 

"Do you know why it's called a Ghost Light?" Jon asks into the warm silence surrounding them. 

Lin shakes his head. "Always found that term funny," he says. 

"It has to do with today." 

Lin frowns. "Today?" 

"Well, Monday's the usual day off for shows, right? Legend has it that this was so the ghosts have a day for themselves, so they can perform in an empty theater. Basically to keep them happy so they don't wreak havoc. Now an empty theater is dark so nobody could see what they were doing on stage. A clever mind came up with the idea of leaving a light on in the middle of the stage so the performer can be seen. Again, this is to keep the ghosts happy. These days the logical explanation is that it's for safety reasons. And in extension, to prevent making more ghosts. Which doesn’t always work. But then again, what would a theater be without a proper haunting every now and then." 

Lin chuckled softly. 

"So, do  _ you  _ perform when you have the place to yourself?" 

"Sometimes, yes. I miss the applause though. There's nothing better-" 

"-than instant gratification for your work. I understand." Lin hesitates, then says: "Show me?" 

Jon pushes himself up, looks down on him. 

Lin smiles crookedly. 

"I can be your audience. It's not much but-" 

"It would be everything," Jon whispers. 

Lin gets up, carefully makes his way into the auditorium, picks a seat in the middle. 

Jon is standing on stage, watching him. The ghost light illuminates his face in the most mesmerizing way.    
When he starts singing, it's quiet at first but quickly his voice fills the entire stage. Lin watches in awe as Jon wanders around in measured steps, never once looking out into the house. He sings a song Lin doesn't know but he's entranced anyways. It speaks of loss and sorrow, and Lin's heart aches at the deep emotions on Jon's face, and in his voice. 

As he ends, Lin only stares. Then Jon is next to him, gently wiping his tears away, cool fingertips caressing Lin's face. 

"That was beautiful," he murmurs, clearing his throat. "Shit, I didn't even applaud." 

Jon smiles. 

"Your reaction is all I need right now." 

Lin twists in his seat, curls his hand around Jon's neck, pulls him into a hard kiss. 

And for a long time the auditorium is only filled with quiet sighs and soft moans.

***

Jon's watching Lin getting dressed, perched on the edge of the new, bigger, couch.  

"Why are you sad?" he asks, breaking the comfortable silence. 

Lin looks at him through the mirror, closing the buttons of his shirt. 

"Because I'll be leaving in two weeks." He frowns; ten different expressions flicker over his face. He slumps into the chair, rubbing a hand over his face. When he drops them, his fingertips are damp. He wipes them on his pants.  

"You're such a great actor," Jon says, keeping his voice low, "but I bet you're a horrible liar.” 

Lin huffs a laugh. 

"The worst."

"Does it bother you? That everything shows on your face?" 

"When I was younger, yes. Not anymore. Sometimes I wish I could conceal some of it but I can't. So I live with it. Why? What do you see?" 

Jon stands, walks over and kneels in front of Lin's chair. His blue eyes scan over Lin's face. Lin meets his gaze, quirks a weak smile. Jon mirrors it. Slowly he reaches out, rest his cool palm against Lin's cheek. 

"Mostly sadness. Excitement. Worry. Nervousness. Curiosity." 

Lin nods, leaning into Jon's touch. 

"All of that. And so much more." 

Jon leans up, brushing a kiss against Lin's lips. Lin sighs, curls his hand around Jon's neck, pulls him close. He kisses back, deepens it, moaning softly. 

"What do we do?" he asks against Jon's mouth. 

Jon kisses him harder, then pulls back. 

"Nothing we  _ can  _ do." 

"What will happen to you when I'm gone?" 

Jon chuckles even though his eyes are sad. 

"I'll be here, pushing things off shelves, misplacing keys, startling people, Business as usual." 

"Can you do that? Just move on? Cause I'm pretty sure I can't." 

"You have to," Jon says sternly, leaning away from Lin, "you must." 

"Do I? Why?" He stares at Jon thoughtfully. 

Jon gasps in shock. 

"Don't even think about it!" he says, raising his voice. "Don't even consider it. That is not worth the thoughts in your head." 

Lin blushes. He meets Jon's eyes; they're very blue and very cold. 

"Lin, no. It's not an option. Nobody knows exactly why and how ghosts are created. You can end up just dead." 

"I would have unfinished business, wouldn't I?" 

"I don't want to be-" 

"Jon, I love you, don't you get that? I've fallen in love with a fucking ghost." Lin's voice cuts through the air like a dagger. 

Silence falls as they stare at each other, shock visibly on both their faces. Jon opens his mouth, closes it again, searching for words. Lin is very still, breathing shallowly, only his eyes are moving frantically over Jon's face. 

"It just happened," Lin murmurs, an apologetic tone in his words, "I'm sorry. I tried not to but-" 

"Shhh," Jon lays a finger on Lin's lips, "that's nothing one has control over." 

He caresses the side of Lin's face, absently chewing on his lip. 

"You're the most outstanding person I've ever met," Jon says after a while, "so full of passion. So full of love. Of life. Lin, there's still so much to achieve, so much to do for you. I can feel it. You're practically bursting with it. You simply cannot end this all on your own hand. It wouldn't be right. You have still too much to give. The world would be a much darker place without you." 

He reaches out, wiping the silent tears from Lin's face. 

"Time is meaningless to me." Jon takes Lin's hands in his. "I can wait. Wait until your time will come. _Naturally_." He stresses the last word, squeezes Lin's hand. 

Lin swallows hard, squeezing back weakly. 

"Would you do that?" he asks, "would you wait for me? I might be old and grey-" 

"You will always be beautiful to me." 

"I might not even be anywhere around here," Lin says, sounding hopeless.  

Jon shakes his head. 

"I have the feeling that won't matter. You and I, we're bound together. I will know. And you will find me. Wherever you may be. Just promise me, that you won't do anything stupid. Please?" 

Lin looks at him, a dozen emotions battling on his expressive face. Then he nods slowly. 

"I promise." 

"Thank you." Jon inclines his head. He lifts Lin's hands, still in his, and kisses each of them. "Thank you." 

Lin gracelessly slides from his chair, wraps his arms around Jon and pulls him close. They hold each other tightly, warm wetness spreading against Jon's neck. He makes soothing noises but Lin can't stop crying for a long time. 

Eventually he pulls back, wipes his eyes. He kisses Jon. Slow and gentle, burning it into his memory to never forget it again. All his senses are heightened, and for a brief second he thinks he can feel Jon’s heartbeat. 

"You gotta get ready," Jon murmurs into the kiss, unwilling to pull away. 

"I know." 

Lin sighs, kisses Jon once more and then scrambles to his feet, straightening his shirt. 

He finishes dressing, neither of them saying anything. Lin flinches as the speaker crackles into life. Looking at Jon, he puts on his boots, checks his image in the mirror, nods curtly. 

Jon watches him leave, back straight, head held high, not looking back. He waits until he hears the first notes of the opening song before he sits on the couch. 

"I love you too." It's not even a whisper, barely heard over the music floating up from downstairs. 

 

\-----

 

Voices fill the lobby of the Richard Rodgers theater at New York's 46th Street. They're indistinguishable, a steady chorus of excitement and anticipation, mixing with the traffic noise from outside. The doors are open, letting in a warm summer breeze. 

A group of young people look around, wide eyed and curious, the air around them buzzing with their nervous energy. They're clutching their programs, overwhelmed with their first live Broadway experience.   

A young man approaches them, smiling brightly at them. 

"Welcome," he says cheerfully as he reaches them, "you must be the our students today." 

Nodded heads all around and murmured confirmations. 

"If you’ll follow me." 

He leads them away from the lobby, and there are soft squeals as they enter the backstage area through an unmarked door. 

"You've come on a special day. On this date, 30 years ago, our musical was performed for the very first time. We knew it was something special but nobody could've imagined that we'd still be here decades later." 

He opens another door, and smiles knowingly as the group hesitates. He motions them forward, and watches happily as they hesitantly walk out onto the stage. He follows them, and leans against the doorway, letting them explore. 

"This is the original set," he explains, "almost as it was back then. A few repairs here and there but that's all." 

"What's this?" one of them asks, pointing at the bare light bulbs in the middle of the stage. 

"A ghost light. It illuminates the stage when it's not used. It helps to find your way around when the house is dark." 

"Why are there two?" 

He smirks; he loves this part the most. 

"To honor and please our ghosts, of course." He tries to hide his grin but fails. Assuring he's got all eyes on him, he walks to the light, gently touching its flimsy rod. 

"35 years ago, a young man named Jonathan Groff fell of this very stage. He broke his neck." 

The students gasp in shock, instinctively moving closer to one another. 

"Of course he haunted this very building. He was a terrible ghost. Barely anyone noticed his misfits, nobody ever really saw him. Everything changed as this," he gestures around the set, "was put on. Legend has it, Lin-Manuel Miranda's dedicated personality helped Jonathan to become corporeal. This can only happen when there's a strong connection between two souls." 

The students frown, clearly not buying it. 

"Legend also has it that they became lovers." He lets that settle before he continues, enjoying the unbelieving expressions. 

"Due to their strong bond, Jonathan's ghostly form became solid enough for them to have a relationship that was almost normal. The only catch was that Jonathan was confined to this very building. He couldn't leave but Lin was here every day so that didn't bother them. But Lin was bound to leave. He had only wanted to act for a year, and he had already made binding commitments for afterwards. Nobody knows what happened between them on that last night, but the show was the most outstanding, most heartbreaking performance this house has ever seen. Everyone was spellbound, spoke of having witnessed something magical. I'm sure Lin gave absolutely everything to bid his lover goodbye." 

Looking out into the empty auditorium, he smiles wistfully. 

"The myth is that Lin visited the theater every Monday. The traditional day off on Broadway. Sometimes people said they heard music, sometimes they heard laughter through some open windows. Years later, Lin met and married a woman, and they had a child together. He kept working on many other projects. Yet he still came in every week. His wife knew, and she allowed it, knowing he would never get over his first love." 

He falls silent, clever brown eyes scanning over the young people in front of him, now hanging on his every word. 

"He died three years ago after a severe stroke." He exhales softly, voice low as he continues. 

"Legend says that he and Jonathan made a pact when they first parted ways. Lin was to continue his life for as long as he had, and Jonathan would wait for him. Lin always clung to that. It helped him to live an ordinary life. And even though he died in his bed, at the other side of the city, people see him here every now and then, walking the hallways, Jonathan by his side, smiling at each other. Usually ghosts are bound to their place of death. Not this one. His heart, his very soul, lived here, in this very theater. It's said they're the happiest ghosts ever seen. They're strolling around the Richard Rodgers, the one place that brought them together, for eternity." 

He finishes with a dramatic flourish. The students stare at him, very different expressions on their faces: disbelief, concealed fright, and even sympathy. 

The man lets his story sink in, his gaze wandering aimlessly over the seats, the aisle, the beautifully decorated ceiling. 

"Sometimes you can hear Lin's voice over the current actor's, singing the lines he wrote so many years ago. He was never able to forget about this play. The one that made him famous. The one that helped him find the love of his life, his soulmate," he says, turning towards the students again, regarding each one of them. "See if you can hear him tonight." 

He winks at them, guiding them off stage. One of the students clears their throat. 

"That was quite the story. Do you think it's true?" 

He nods without hesitation. 

"Yes." He doesn't elaborate. 

"Uh, okay. Uhm, thank you, Mr-" 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Sebastian Nadal." 

A cool breeze moves over the group, swirling around gently, almost like a caress. The smile on Sebastian's face is sunny and breathtakingly beautiful. 

As they leave, a barely audible hum can be heard which turns into a low laugh. A second, higher laugh joins in, filling the theater with a tangible sense of pure joy. 

And if one would squint against the bright glare of the ghost lights, one could see two shadows up on the balcony, seated on the wide ledge, hands tightly entwined, the same sunny smile on one of their pale faces. 

  
  



End file.
